


The Good, The Bad, And The Space Between

by 48eyesand32teeth1sharptongue



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Trans Bruce Wayne, angst and rambling, bruce wayne centric, deadname discussions, i might turn this into an actual fic idk, im having a really stressful time and i gotta get it out of my system, ventfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26952307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/48eyesand32teeth1sharptongue/pseuds/48eyesand32teeth1sharptongue
Summary: Bruce deals with dysphoria and other life events in different ways.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	The Good, The Bad, And The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> you know when you just want to scream at the sky because you didn't have the foresight to anticipate things and also the world is full of crazy you have to wade through to find the good kind bits?
> 
> yeah
> 
> anyway this is gonna start off fluffy and then spiral because i'm not having the best time with a few things
> 
> anyway im having an elongated panic attack over things I'm not sure about and dealing with doctors so this might turn into not a oneshot and i might take away bruce's money and have him be batman anyway idk this might turn into a rich joker poor batman au with a side of evil batjokes or i just might make a separate fic for that but the first chapter is me just venting and then it just turns into batman philosophy things

Bruce looks at his old name and finds gleeful, vindictive pleasure in trashing every scrap of mail with his deadname on it, and keeping the ones with the right name for a few days before tossing whatever takes up unnecessary space.

Every scrap of paper that isn't essential with Beatrice Lucy Wayne on it is summarily thrown into a fiery trashcan or otherwise disposed of at Bruce's discretion. 

Every single instance of seeing Bruce Alan Wayne in any kind of lettering- be it calligraphy, official letterhead, typeface in bold, typewriter-type print, or any of the official documents like Bruce's documents as a citizen- gives Bruce butterflies and makes him feel like he's walking on air. Like he's finally embodying his body and become real and walking on air even when he hasn't dealt with over half the things that still make him want to hide and disappear.

Coming out to the world came with it's ups and downs- Bruce's parents, worried and partially out of their depth, but not always with unselfish, self-centered intentions of well-meaning people who think they know best, sometimes ask for too much that Bruce isn't able to give, and sometimes drop the ball when it comes to thinking they can dictate who Bruce comes out to or who he should still associate with. They care, and they love him, but some love is always conditional for being the person they wished he could be, for what their dreams were, and some of it remains there, sitting there, and Bruce doesn't know how to unlock it. Because sometimes love isn't enough. Sometimes it's too selfish and maybe that isn't love, but part of them just want Bruce safe and sound and Bruce can at least agree with the fact that they care, and want to care for the right reasons. They want him to be happy, even though their ideas of that are very different things and don't always manifest in a way that makes Bruce feel real. But Martha lets Bruce buy boys clothes in the boys section and Thomas teaches him about cufflinks and they all try to get along, to move forward, even if they don't understand and sometimes do more harm than good in trying to be well-meaning. 

They don't understand the urgency, once you realize what's been eating you alive. And they aren't on board with top surgery- they want Bruce to wait, when Bruce has been waiting years, not even knowing it was an option. (Being rich doesn't always stop you from being sheltered, in more ways than one.)

But Bruce learns new kinds of rebellion for himself early, out of necessity, out of needing to carve out a space for himself without anyone else trying to crowd in what they want, because for all the ways his parents love him, in some ways they are as unknowable as the sea to him and he is to them, and there are some things Bruce can't keep waiting for, can't keep as a concession, cutting himself into pieces to make other people happy.

Bruce's grandparents don't take it well. Bruce doesn't care one iota, even if Bruce's parents do.

Alfred, as usual, is supportive and lets Bruce do his thing, unlike how other people tend to interfere. Bruce doesn't know what he'd do without Alfred.

Especially when, years later, once Bruce's parents are dead and gone and he's grown quiet and controlled and angry and lost in a multitude of other ways, the news hits that Bruce can't take T. That because of whatever reaction he's having, they're not sure he can move forward. There's a chance they're wrong, and they can do tests.

But it isn't looking good.

(Bruce had waited, in the end. Waited because his parents made him promise, and then they died, and Bruce let himself be set on fire because you don't break your promises, even when it fucking ate him alive along with the way the world seemed like it wanted to devour him whole.)

Bruce keeps moving, anyway.

It makes him feel like he's going to break, but he's going to be himself no matter what, and Bruce wasn't going to stay in stasis any longer.

He'd waited long enough to make Batman a reality.

He was done waiting for things to happen, to try and be cautious, when all of Gotham had been waiting long enough right there with him, waiting for someone with the power to do something about things that just don't change.

\--

Bruce knows he's a man. He's always been a man, whether people see it or not.

And considering his situation, he's lucky. He's got a tough jawline and never looked particularly feminine much, and he didn't have to deal with as big of a chest as other unlucky folks. He has money. He can afford surgery. He has a safety net and enough income that even if Wayne Enterprises folded he wouldn't be destitute on the street, not like so many other people. (Not like he'd feared once, when he thought he'd be disinherited and worried about coming out, and had almost been if his parents hadn't been themselves and he had still come out anyway, damn any and all consequences. Other relatives tried to get him disinherited after Martha and Thomas passed, but for all the other bad blood in the family, Phillip and Jacob hadn't left Bruce to the wolves, nor had Alfred, and Bruce won his case and fought all the transphobia and attempts to discredit and even institutionalize him every time someone came to try and break him when he would be unbreakable where it counted). Bruce had made plans for losing everything, even as a child. It doesn't do to contemplate real homelessness, or couchsurfing, or anything, but once Alfred came to bat at least Bruce knew he'd never be alone or unloved or as mired in pain and struggle as much as people less lucky than him.

Still.

Bruce endured, Bruce won, Bruce pushed through every whisper and every ignorant word and stood up for what he was and the people who lived the same struggle and gave them places to go, supported doctors and professionals and everyone stopping the gatekeeping so people could get what they need, because Bruce could do that.

There is always a new battle, but Bruce was ready for that.

The only time Bruce is breakable is when he's alone and at the mercy of himself, and the work that must be done for this city.

It doesn't change that it hurts, when he doesn't recognize the body attached to his face in a mirror.

Many other things hurt in different ways, but at least those, Bruce has some kind of plan for how to fix, save for old grief that never left and older grief for what hasn't been enough yet.

Bruce keeps going.

He can handle his own pain, every part of him marred by one day where he lost trust in something he'd thought would never break him, just as he'd handled so much else.

It doesn't change the nature of the grief. But even as it lingers, Bruce pushes on.

There are some things you can fix, and some you can't.

And some things don't heal, but you learn to do what must be done, and Bruce's personal struggles are something he's accustomed to working around, even with other pain he's never quite drowned out.

Loss is always more potent, when it's other people and not you.

(Bruce misses his parents. He misses them so much, even when he wishes he didn't give Alfred the same fear of loss he'd been running from the minute Bruce stared down another criminal in that alley and decided to do something about it every damn night since.)

\--

Bruce moves forward. He puts risers in his shoes, makes sure his packer doesn't fall out of place, deepens his voice on the vocoder for the suit, makes sure his chest armor is functional and efficient and also bulky enough to make him feel flat and more like this body is his, puts on the black eyeshadow because, for all the things people tend to mock Bruce for, it's just makeup and doesn't change who he is, and he likes it, he's always liked black and always liked the ability to hide and make the pomp and circumstance and ritual of doing things into something more. (Selina and so many friends did say Bruce did rock the goth look, even when he'd just been rebelling as a teenager, but Bruce is inclined to agree. Black and monochrome suit him, and he likes the idea of his own kind of war paint. Of transforming, because he's used to shapeshifting into something palatable people want him to be as much as he can do the same for the opposite, being every bit stubborn and willful and uncompromising as he ever is. Leading a double life does that, and you learn to carve out a space for yourself in the things people try to use to take more away from you.)

And then, only after all, that Bruce dons the cowl.

It's a promise and an oath and a sacred duty.

He is vengeance and fury and justice, but he is a listening ear to children and lost people who the world pretends it thinks it forgets, too.

He is the ear on the corrupt and the cruel, holding them to heel while trying to help Gordon as best he can in a broken system.

And he makes sure his plans for taking a month off to recover once his top surgery appointments are settled, meticulously planned even when people did their best to make the process long and arduous and difficult. It had taken long enough to get it, after waiting for so long.

But there are some things you can't compromise on.

And if Bruce can't betray himself, just like he can't betray his city.

The only way he heals is if he's honest, and real, and every bit as terrifying and mythical and direct as he dares to be.

The problem isn't secrets. Secrets keep you safe, and not all private things are meant to be known by anyone else, even the people you love. Some things are just yours- and Batman is Bruce's, as much as Batman is for the city.

The city doesn't need more corruption.

It just needs the truth, and some help along the way, and someone willing to do what needs to be done so people can save themselves.

And Bruce knows, deep in his heart, that he can't save anyone if he gives up on saving himself, too.

The relationship between his double lives and Batman, his work as Bruce and in the cowl, and the relationship with Batman and his city in all it's glorious, broken, messy parts necessitates that Bruce lay himself bare and give his all for it. That healing only works if you let yourself breathe and become what you must.

You are what you make the cowl, just as you are what you make yourself, and it doesn't matter what anyone because it's yours, and it can't be destroyed or taken away.

It just is.

And Bruce will give the city it's autonomy and life and hope back, just as he rebuilds his.

You are what you allow yourself to be.

You become what you let yourself believe in.

And Bruce will be what Gotham needs, just as Gotham lets him keep himself free and real and honest in a way he doesn't always know how to be, because of all the things that come with it.

For all the ways people refuse to see what is the truth, because they prefer another version.


End file.
